Damaged
by StephNexus
Summary: "...Craning her neck, she stole another glace backwards and noticed that the brunette had now gone but he was still there, eyes staring right towards her. The eye contact made her heart thud against her chest but she didn't know why..." - One-shot. Dean Ambrose/OC. Requested by xBeYOUtifulx!


**A/N:**  
This is a one-shot requested by** xBeYOUtifulx** :)  
Disclaimer: The song used is "Damaged" by Plumb and I do not own it. Nor do I own Dean Ambrose.  
Read, review and enjoy!  
Steph, xo.

* * *

**Damaged**

"Come on baby," the blond-haired girl whispered into his ear as her tongue met his neck in a slow, suggestive lick. He gripped onto his beer in a tighter manner, doing his best to ignore the blond that was straddling his lap, bright eyes clouded over with lust. "Hurry up and finish your beer so we can get the fuck out of here," she added as her hands started to travel down south from his chest. But still, he didn't react to her words. Her hands played with the top of his belt slowly but it didn't have an affect on Dean; he was too busy focused somewhere else – not like the blond could tell. She tilted her head to the right, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "You're not listening to me, are you?" Dean could tell that she was annoyed but he really didn't care. "You promised me that we would go back to yours tonight; when can we go?"

Dean finally looked towards her, his dirty-blond hair messy as his blue eyes flashed with annoyance. "If I don't reply to you then that probably means I don't give two fucks about what you're saying."

"But–"

"But what, huh?" Dean interjected, voice harsh as he spoke. She looked towards him, confused. "After earlier you said we would come in here for a few drinks before we go back to yours."

Dean snickered. "Right, so after you sucked me off after a minute of talking you actually believed what I said?"

She looked absolutely horrified as she pushed herself off of him, "You're a dick!"

"And you can't suck dicks to save your life, sweetheart," he returned, eyes returning to where they were previously focused on before. He didn't care to notice the hurt look in her eyes as a few tears fell freely. She shook her head, understanding that Dean really didn't care about her, and turned around to leave; she pulled down her dress on the way out, not wanting to find herself drawing any more attention to herself. Dean brought his beer up to his lips, tilting back his head so the cool liquid would meet with his mouth. He swallowed and set the bottle before him, his eyes were still focused. Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he cracked his knuckles before he got up and walked over to the bar, in need for another drink. His hands rested upon the wooden surface of the bar as he waited for the bartender to serve him.

"Would you like the same again?" the bartender asked. He was an old man – probably early sixties – and faded tattoos covered his arms. Dean thought that he had probably been working here for most of his life.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "And also whatever this young girl wants, too."

She looked up from her glass and shook her head, "I'm okay thanks."

"Your glass is empty," Dean pointed out.

She weakly shrugged.

Dean took this as a sign that she did want that offered drink. "Just make that two beers."

"Right," the bartender nodded as he walked over to pull out two beers from one of the mini-fridges. He popped off the caps and placed them onto the surface, "On your tab?"

"You've got it," Dean returned. He took hold of a beer in each hand and placed one in front of the young female. She looked towards him in the corner of her eye, "Thank you. You really didn't have to."

"Just thought you looked as though you needed company," Dean shrugged. She just gave a short, silent nod as her hand met with the body of the bottle and she dragged it closer to her. Dean looked intently towards her hand – scratched and scarred – and his lips formed into a slight pout, "What's up with your hand?"

She looked down towards her hand and shook her head, "Nothing?"

"I just saw the scars and scratches," Dean returned. "That's not nothing."

"It _is_ nothing and what is it to you anyway?"

Dean raised his hands in defence at her brisk words, "I'm sorry. Was just concerned that you were hurt but obviously you're not. I'm going back to my table so have a good night." He returned back to his table and sighed heavily – his plan didn't quite work out the way it was supposed to. His eyes started scanning around the room to find another girl to take his mind off of his rejection.

**Dreaming comes so easily****  
****'Cause it's all that I've ever know****  
****True love is a fairy tale****  
****I'm damaged, so how would I know**

**I'm scared and I'm alone****  
****I'm ashamed****  
****And I need for you to know**

She closed her eyes as he left her to return back to his seat. Sighing, her eyes flashed open and she stole a glance back at him; he looked occupied as a brunette made her way towards him. She didn't mean to be so defensive; it just came naturally to her. Taking a swig of her beer, she rested her hands on the surface and looked down at them; he was right – there are scars and scratches but she did her best to ignore them as they continued all the way up her arms. She couldn't remember exactly the date the first scratch met her skin, not that she even wanted to. She felt disgusted, ashamed and there was nothing she could really do about it. Craning her neck, she stole another glace backwards and noticed that the brunette had now gone but he was still there, eyes staring right towards her. The eye contact made her heart thud against her chest but she didn't know why. She looked away from him and back towards her beer that rested on the surface before her. She chewed on her bottom lip, unsure of what to make of _him. _She had the habit of judging people from the smallest of things; his hair alone made him look like a 'bad-boy' and the way girls just threw themselves at him makes her think he has or had trust issues in the past. She could read people easily because she had taught herself to do so – it was a way to help her get through her days. Propping herself off of the barstool, she swiftly headed towards the door that read "Toilets" and walked into the hallway that held two doors; one with a male sign and one with a female. Pushing the door to the ladies' room open, the flickering light caused her head to ache for a split second as it adjusted to the lack of light as well as light. Resting her hands on the counter beside the sink, be brought her eyes up to meet the reflection in the broken mirror. She wished that she could have seen herself smiling, eyes glistening and radiant but instead she saw the opposite; she could only dream of smiling and her eyes were showing just how broken she truly was. She could see that she was alone, that she was scared and it made her feel sick. Feeling more conscious than before, she zipped up her hooded sweatshirt and threw her hood up over her head and pulled the door towards her. As she stepped out, her eyes widened as her breath hitched in the back of her throat. He was stood there, waiting. She wasn't sure who for but it wasn't really any of her business – not like she cared anyway. Opting to push past him, he made sure she couldn't and stood in front of her.

"Let me past," she quietly said.

He ignored her words. "You look troubled," he instead said.

She shook her head, "Just let me past, please."

"Why are you troubled? I have my theories, you see."

She glared towards him, "You have theories? How about you take those theories and shove them up your ass! I don't need you thinking that you know me because you don't!"

A ghost of a smirk graced Dean's lips, "Yep, you're definitely troubled."

She went to snap back at him but her shoulders slumped and her head fell, "Please let me past. I need to go."

"Where do you need to go?"

"What is it to you? Seriously, let me past," her voice was raised as she spoke. "I need to be left alone."

Dean pushed his tongue into his cheek as he took a step to the right, allowing her to walk past him. She was quick to move and found herself almost running out of the pub. She felt almost naked; how could a complete stranger know that she was troubled with hardly talking to her? Slumping onto the ground, she wrapped her arms around her knees as she pulled them to her chest. The moment she heard footsteps crunching on the gravel she knew he had followed her outside but she found herself not really caring anymore.

"I'm troubled too," he spoke as he dropped himself to her left. He made it sound as if it was the most normal thing in the whole world. She looked up towards him briefly and found him lighting a cigarette. "I mean, I don't think it's the same sort of trouble you've got but my life hasn't been easy."

"You have trust issues," she softly mumbled.

He looked towards her for a few moments as he took a long drag, "How'd you know that?"

"The way that girls just throw themselves at you; you don't push them away. You like the attention from them, especially because you know you don't have to commit with them," she explained as if it was the simplest concept to understand.

He exhaled the smoke to his left, away from the girl, "How do you know I'm not just a male slut?"

She could sense the light smirk on his lips, "Because of the look in your eyes as well as your body language. Sure, you enjoy the sex but as soon as they want something else then you get all angry with them."

"Anything else you want to tell me about myself?"

"You're a…." she smiled a little and stopped herself. He looked towards her confused, "I'm a…?"

"…bad boy."

"Oh, what makes you say that?" he asked, a smug look upon his features.

"Your hair," she simply replied. "Makes you look rough."

"Well…thank you."

"You're welcome."

**I didn't say all the things that I wanted to say****  
****And you can't take back what you've****taken away****  
****'Cause I feel you, I feel you near me**

He threw his cigarette away from them both as he turned to face her, "How come you can read people so easily?"

"Just a habit," she replied.

"I see. So you've always done it?"

"Not always."

Dean's eyes wondered down to her hands before back to her face. "Can I try and read you?"

"Yeah…go for it," she shot him the smallest of smiles.

"Someone has hurt you in the past. They may still be hurting you now, I'm not sure. And I don't just mean physically. Emotionally, too," Dean stopped to read her expression, and despite it being neutral, he added, "You're also scared that I have read you so easily. Don't worry, it was weird for me that you were able to read me."

"Huh."

"That's what those scars are from, right?"

**Healing comes so painfully****  
****And it chills to the bone****  
****Will anyone get close to me?****  
****I'm damaged, as I'm sure you know****There's mending for my soul****  
****An ending to this fear****  
****Forgiveness for a man who was stronger****  
****I was just a little girl, but I can't go back.**

She said nothing as she kept looking forward. She could feel her eyes filling up with warm tears as her throat became dry. The second she felt his hand on her shoulder she flinched away, "Don't hurt me," she breathed.

"Hey," Dean softly said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help you."

She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaped her lips that made Dean feel a little uncomfortable. "Help me? No one can help me. I'm damaged goods."

"Damaged goods?" Dean repeated.

She didn't say anything in response; he wouldn't understand.

"What makes you think that you're damaged goods?"

"I was young, probably around ten," she started. It took a minute for Dean to follow her words. "I didn't know what he was doing. I sort of thought it was normal back then, you know? He said I was pretty, told me he'd buy me everything I wanted. What else was I to do? I thought that I had met the man that I would marry," she stopped for a second or two to catch her breath. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have been so stupid."

"Did he…."

"Yeah, he raped me," she chuckled humourlessly. "I can always feel him here with me."

"But he's not here," Dean was quick to comment.

She dropped her eyes to her arms. Rolling up her sleeves, Dean couldn't help but to look at the scarred skin. "He's always here. He's ruined me."

"None of this was your fault. You were young, you didn't know better."

Tears fell from her eyes as his words dissolved into the air surrounding them. "I, I just want to be happy," she whispered.

Dean wrapped his arm around her, pulling her into him, "You can be happy."

She pulled away from him and their eyes locked together. As she looked into his eyes, she felt a shiver travel up her spine. A foreign feeling radiated from her heart. Tearing away from his eyes she wiped at her eyes. "How can you be so sure?"

"I've had a shit childhood too. Granted I didn't go through what you went through but my mum was a prostitute so I sort of get how you feel. My dad dealt drugs. Can't you just imagine how great they were as parents?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he returned. "Listen, you can be happy again because I'm happy now. It's going to be a hard journey but it'll be worth it. Perhaps use your anger to your advantage? That's what I do."

"You do?"

"Yeah. We all go through things that are hard to deal with but it's how you deal with it that makes a difference. You shouldn't let it eat you alive because that's such a waste of life. Screw what people think, screw the negative thoughts and start a new life."

She managed a small smile as he said those words with passion.

"Perhaps I can help you start a new life?"

"Perhaps you can," she replied.

"I'm Dean," he said, holding out his hand. She took his hand reluctantly and shook it. "I'm Jessica."


End file.
